


it was a flood that wrecked this (and you caused it)

by quakeriders



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Mild Blood, Miscarriage, POV Multiple, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-17 17:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20625020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: She had been told over and over again how dangerous fae pregnancies were. But somehow she hadn’t really understood, not until she was laying on her side, curled around the bump that had been growing for the past eight months, feeling like she was being torn apart from the inside out.Or: in which Feyre and Rhys were going to have a baby, but then everything goes to shit™️(warning: deals with heavy topics, such as miscarriage, depression, people who don't know how to deal with a new kind of grief)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that the first fic after my summer break is THIS.  
but like.. it wouldn't leave me alone and so here we are
> 
> warnings for all that angsty shit, like honestly this is going to be a hard ride but you know me I love my kids and I want to give them a happy(ish) ending?
> 
> title inspo: youth - daughter
> 
> -
> 
> Important (sort of): this is no way shape or form me putting my views and thoughts into Feyre's mind. in a situation like this, I wouldn't blame either party for their choices or their reactions. I'm not sharing Feyre's opinions and think they are the "right" way to think, just a possible scenario. I wanted to play with a "what if" and this is what I thought would be the most interesting way to do it. In the next couple of chapters, it might make a bit more sense, why the characters have to react the way they react, but suffice it to say, that just because Feyre or any other character thinks Rhys' choice was a mistake, I or you shouldn't or don't have to think so as well.

She had been told over and over again how dangerous fae pregnancies were. But somehow she hadn’t really understood, not until she was laying on her side, curled around the bump that had been growing for the past eight months, feeling like she was being torn apart from the inside out.

Feyre couldn’t even scream, the pain so overwhelming that all she could do was hold onto her middle, where she had only felt a few flutters of movement before. But now, now something was moving. Her insides were on fire, her muscles clenching painfully as her throat closed up and tears flowed from her eyes freely.

She was alone, had been for most of the day, just lying in bed after a night spending bent over the toilet. Rhys hadn’t wanted to leave, but Feyre had ushered him out with a scowl and a promise that she would be fine.

Now she wasn’t.

And neither was their child.

Another wave of unbearable agony ripped through her body and at last, a scream tore from her throat. It left her burning everywhere and suddenly she could feel the presence of someone else beside her.

Strong hands were running down her arms, towards where her hands were clutching at the gift she had be granted.

Rhysand was calling her name, a blind panic beating against her mental shields as his fingers entwined with hers and he kneeled before her. "Feyre, please."

She wasn’t sure how she managed it, but her eyes opened and she found his wide, terror-filled eyes looking back at her. "Stop screaming, darling, please."

Feyre realised only then, that after that first scream, she hadn’t stopped. She had curled tightly around herself, trying to protect their child from whatever was happening.

With that realisation came a few more. Rhys wasn’t the only one in the room with her. No, Mor was there, and another set of hands were on her back, gently guiding her to lay back. It felt almost impossible to relax, to stretch out her body, to let anyone near where she felt so defenseless, to where her child was.

_It’s only Madja_, Rhys whispered into her mind, sending a wave of comfort and warmth into her. It didn’t calm her like it would usually do. Probably because even though he tried to hide his own panic, she could feel his heart pounding just as hard as her own.

_Rhys, please, please, make it stop, Rhys, make it stop_, the words flowed out of her mind and into his without her permission. She felt pain and terror and blind panic like she had never before. Not even when the Attor and all of Amarantha’s vile beasts had beaten her within an inch of her life, not when she had been slowly rotting away in that damp dungeon cell, not when she had been wasting away in the Spring Court wishing for death, not when she had clung to Rhysand’s lifeless body and begged the other High Lords to save him, to bring him back. No, not even then. This was worse, because when she had lost Rhys, it had felt like her heart had been ripped in two. Now, it felt like someone was ripping her heart out completely.

Eight months pregnant, with a child whose emotions she could feel, whose tiny movements inside her made her heart swell with wonder and excitement. And now she could feel the blind panic, the fight for survival.

_I’m here, Feyre, he’s going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine_, Rhys replied to her and she caught the tears in his eyes as the edges of her vision began to darken. _You’re going to be fine. I promise._

Her mate’s reassurance was the last thing she heard, before the pain finally pulled her under and the world was swallowed by a dark void.

—

"My Lord, you have to make a decision." Madja said, her usually calm voice unsteady and breathless. Her arms were covered in blood, the blood of his mate, who had grown pale and limp. Her eyes had closed not ten minutes ago, but she hadn’t seen the blood that had been seeping from her, too overwhelmed by the pain. Rhys couldn’t stop looking at her pale, slack face. Couldn’t stop thinking about how lifeless she looked. How close to death they both were. How he'd give everything to make sure that they both survived. His powers, his life, his lands. Everything.

"Rhys!" Mor screamed, shaking him by his shoulders. "This isn’t the time to loose it."

"My lord, I can not save both. You have to decide, your mate or your child." Madja said again, a steely undertone now back in her voice.

Rhys swallowed, brushed the tears away from his face and looked at Feyre. At her rounded belly, at the sight that had brought him so much joy for the past months. He bit back more tears and looked back into her face. His voice didn’t shake as he finally spoke.

"Save her."

Mor let go of him and he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything in that moment. The words had severed his connection with the world. His body felt weightless and intangible as he fought against the urge to rip apart the world. As he desperately wished for anther way out. So, he just watched that pale face, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t loose a piece of his heart today. And for the first time in decades, he begged the Mother for mercy. And even as he did so, he remembered the time he had believed his life was too good to be true. That the happiness that he and Feyre had found with each other was too good to be true.

And then he was cursing the Mother, the cauldron, the fates and whatever else held the fabric of their world together.

And then his vision blurred and he let the desperation and anger swallow him whole.

—

_Emptiness_.

That’s what Feyre felt when she came to. It took an eternity for her to open her eyes, to blink against the soft light coming from the windows. But then, all at once, she remembered what had happened.

Her arms were heavy, as if filled with lead when she raised them towards her middle. She felt for the life she had carried within her for the last eight months and froze when she felt the emptiness. Not just the physical emptiness, but the lack of feeling coming from that other mind curled up against hers.

Gone.

It was gone.

She sat up, letting out a cry as pain ripped through her midsection. Still, she held herself up and noticed the sleeping body in the armchair next to her bed.

Mor’s hair was dishevelled, her clothes rumpled and her hands and forearms were stained red in some places.

As Feyre took her in, Mor awoke and caught her gaze.

Her brown eyes were dull and lifeless and filled with such sorrow that Feyre’s throat dried up and the question on the tip of her tongue melted away. Tears began to fill her eyes and she began shaking her head. "No."

Mor swallowed, Feyre saw it through her blurred vision and growing pain. "No, Mor, no, please, no."

"I’m so sorry, Feyre." Mor said, her voice barely more than a croak. "Madja did what she could."

Feyre sobbed, her whole body shaking and then Mor was there, holding her to her chest and Feyre let herself fall into her. Let herself fall apart as she sobbed.

She felt her lips moving, heard her own voice. Begging, pleading for this to be a nightmare. And after what felt like an eternity, something occurred to Feyre.

"Where’s Rhys?" She asked, through her sobs. "Why isn’t he here?"

A terrible thought crossed her mind. Maybe Rhysand couldn’t stand to see her. To comfort her after loosing something he had dreamed of for so long. Maybe he blamed her. Maybe—

Mor sat up a little straighter, her eyes shying away from Feyre, confirming her suspicions.

"There’s something else." Mor began slowly. She swallowed hard, wiping away her own tears. "When Madja was trying to save him, we had to make a choice."

Feyre frowned. "What?"

"Feyre, you were both dying. There wasn’t enough time to save both of you, so she asked Rhys to choose."

Ice formed around her heart and something like terror rose up in her throat. "What?" She whispered again.

Mor gave her a look filled with so much sadness. "You were dying. Both of you. And Rhys— he told Madja to save you. He—"

Feyre cut her off. "Where is he?"

"Feyre, you have to understand, he—"

"Where. Is. He?" She felt a cold fury fill her heart as she curled her fingers into a fist. Her heart was pounding and all she could hear was _choose, choose, choose_.

"Up on the roof." Mor said, eventually, with a defeated sigh.

Feyre stumbled as she got to her feet. She was wearing new, clean clothes. A set of night clothes and a plush robe. Despite the layers, being out of the heavy covers made her shiver. Swaying slightly, she made her way to the door and when Mor reached for her, trying to steady her, Feyre pushed her off. "No, don’t."

Mor froze, looking hurt and broken but for once Feyre didn’t care. She made her way out of her bedroom and gritted her teeth as she climbed the stairs one by one. Her entire body ached as she moved and she wrapped one arm around her middle, while the other held onto the banister.

The air outside was crisp and the wind ruffled her hair. The sun was setting and she spotted the dark form of Rhysand sitting in one of the chairs, watching the city.

His shoulders were tense and even as she took a few more steps towards him, he didn’t turn around. Only when a sharp pain shot through her body, did he finally face her.

His eyes were bloodshot, sunken in and tear tracks were criss-crossing over his cheeks. He looked worse than she had ever seen him before and her heart ached at the sight of him like that. But—

"How could you?" Feyre asked, her voice soft.

He closed his eyes, new tears escaping. But he didn’t answer.

"Rhysand, how could you?" She repeated, stepping closer. "You promised me, you said he would be fine. That we would be fine. You _promised_"

Her voice broke on the last word and his shoulders sagged and a sob tore from his throat. "I know."

Feyre’s own tears were a steady stream of agony as she looked at him. "You said you would make sure that he would be fine. I trusted you."

"There was nothing I could do." He said, finally looking back at her. "I was powerless, all this goddamn power and I couldn’t do anything."

"Yes, you could have done something." Feyre gritted out, her voice rising. "You could have let me die."

"No."

"Yes!" Feyre shot back, swaying on her feet. Rhys stepped towards her, his arms reaching for her but Feyre recoiled. "No, don’t touch me."

He froze, his eyes meeting hers. "Feyre—"

But Feyre was already moving away from him. "Don’t. I can’t even look at you."

"I couldn’t let you die." Rhys said, his voice soft. "I told you before, I love you more than anything. I love you and I will always choose you."

"You chose wrong. You should have chosen our child." Feyre screamed. "You should have chosen to save him instead of me. Because I would have rather died than live in a world without him."

Rhys’ hands balled to fists. "Do you think it doesn’t kill me? That I hate myself for it?"

Feyre let out a sound like a snarl. "You should. You might as well have killed him with your own two hands."

Rhys flinched back as if she had hit him. His eyes were nothing but two orbs of anguish. And even as Feyre’s heart was breaking and breaking and breaking, she couldn’t stop hating him for what he had done. To her. To their child. To them.

"I can’t even look at you." She said, shaking her head. She turned away, gripping the wall for support and brushed away more tears.

"Feyre." Rhys said, his voice barely audible.

She didn’t turn around, she didn’t stop to listen. She just made her way back down the stairs and didn’t stop walking until she was at the front door. She didn’t care about her clothes, or her battered body. All she could think was that her child had died in this house, that the people who had decided to let her child die were in this house.

She opened the front door and walked out.

Mor’s voice sounded from upstairs, calling for her, but Feyre didn’t turn around. She just kept going until she was on the dark streets of Velaris and her tears had blurred her vision.

She only stopped when her body reached its breaking point. She simply sank to her feet and pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed there on the streets of the city that had promised to be the place where she would find happiness. The streets she had wanted to share with her beautiful son.

Instead, she was alone and in the cold and in pain.

Just as she had always been.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry in advance (?)

Feyre lost track of time. As she broke apart on the cold, hard ground, she fell into a pit of despair so deep and dark, that it felt as though she would drown in it.

She couldn’t breathe through her sobs, couldn’t think through the pain and all she felt was pain and cold and —

For the first time in a very long time, she wished for it all to be over.

She wanted it to be over. She wanted to stop crying, stop thinking, stop being.

She just wanted the pain to go away.

Instead, she was pulled out of her mind by the sound of beating wings. A heavy body landed right before her and somehow the thought of seeing his face, made her pull further into herself. She couldn’t—

"Feyre."

It wasn’t _him_. No, it wasn’t the male, whose name she couldn’t even bring herself to think. Instead, Cassian crouched down before her, his wings folding back as he did so. His elbows came to rest on his thighs and when their eyes met, his hazel ones were filled with sadness and an understanding, they had somehow always shared.

"Let’s get you home." He said, his voice for once soft and devoid of any amusement.

But it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. "No." She shook her head, sniffling and leaning away from him. "I can’t go back there. I can’t—"

"Alright." Cassian cut in, raising his hands in defeat. "Then I’ll take you somewhere else, but you can’t stay here."

Feyre looked around, noting for the first time the dark street she had stopped in. She was not far from the townhouse, but far enough away that the streets weren’t filled with houses, but shops that had been closed hours ago.

She gave him a small nod and tried to stand. Her whole body was shaking and almost frozen to the marrow of her bones, so Cassian caught her before she could fall and pulled her into his warmth.

Feyre remained stiff and unmoving as he wrapped his arms around her and pushed off the ground. They rose high above the streets and when she could see the lights of the city sparkling in the Sidra, she closed her eyes and turned her head away from the sight.

She couldn’t look at the beauty of the city. Nor could she stand to look at the stars. She didn’t want to see any of that. She wanted to sleep. And never wake up.

Cassian did not take her to the House of Wind. Wisely so. Because she wouldn’t have let him. Instead he flew into a part of the city, Feyre hadn’t visited much. It was close to where Nesta had stayed all those months after the war had ended. But the street Cassian landed in, was far cleaner and looked less decrepit. He lead her to a building that resembled the one in which Armen lived. Instead of climbing all the way up to the roof however, Cassian unlocked a door on the second floor and held it open for Feyre to enter.

The apartment was sparsely furnished. The living room had a kitchen and dining area in it and only two doors led further into the apartment. "Bedroom, bathroom." Cassian said, pointing to one then the other door.

He had stayed outside and Feyre turned back to look at him. She might have asked him, why he wasn’t coming inside, but she didn’t care. And she didn’t have the energy to ask. So instead, she made her way over to the bedroom door and slipped inside.

"Hey, Feyre." Cassian called after her, before she had shut the door.

Feyre turned around and she saw the tears in Cass’ eyes. "I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but I just want you to know, that we all loved him. And we’re all hurting. You’re not alone."

It was a wonder that she still had tears to shed. Through the heaviness in her heart, Feyre watched him for a few heartbeats and then she shut the door without opening her mouth.

She didn’t take the time to look at her surroundings. She went to the bed, let herself sink into the covers and curled into a tight ball and tried to stop herself from screaming.

She failed.

—

"She needs you." Cassian said, his eyes on Rhys’ unmoving body. His brother had been standing on that damn rooftop for hours and Cassian wanted to shake him. Like he had told Feyre, he couldn’t imagine the sort of pain they must be feeling. But he, too, had fallen in love with the child they had been waiting for. He, too, had imagined how they would teach that little boy how to fly and fight and watch him grow up.

How he would be an uncle. How Mor would be an aunt. And Rhys would be a dad. And Feyre a mom.

But this was wrong. He had lived through his fair share of trauma and he knew that this was wrong. Rhys shouldn’t be standing here in the cold and Feyre shouldn’t be in his apartment on the other side of the city. They were supposed to be together. They were supposed to grieve together.

"She doesn’t want to see me." Rhys replied, his voice cold and full of pain at the same time. He had never seen him like this, not even when his mother and sister’s death had been proclaimed. Not when Rhysand had pulled their heads out of the boxes and buried them himself.

No, this pain was something entirely different.

"She needs you." Cassian repeated, anger spiking. "She’s hurting, she’s grieving, she shouldn’t be alone."

Rhysand finally turned around. His eyes were ice cold and something like fury was on his face. "Don’t you think, I would be right by her side if she let me be there? She wouldn’t let me touch her, she wouldn’t even listen to me. She told me, that she can’t even look at me. That I killed him. That I was the one responsible for his death—"

His voice broke and Cassian moved. His arms wrapped around his brother as he began shaking. Rhysand fell apart, sobbing and holding onto him as if his life depended on him.

"I don’t know what to do." Rhys said, through his sobs. "She’s right. She’s right."

Cassian held him tighter. "No, that’s not true. She’s hurting, Rhys. What she said isn’t true. But she is in pain and she’s just as lost as you are. She’s just a kid, Rhys, not even thirty years old. She-"

He could tell that Rhys didn’t believe him. His brother cried harder, gripping his tunic hard and sobbing as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest and Cassian just held him tightly.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

"I don’t know what to do." Rhysand repeated. Cassian’s heart broke at the small, defeated voice that uttered those words.

—

Feyre awoke to the sound of someone knocking on a door.

She sat up in the unfamiliar bed, looking around the unfamiliar room. The sun was shining through the small window and she could hear the sounds of a lively street below. Of people milling around and purchasing wares, vendors shouting and people haggling.

Another knock sounded.

"It’s me." Mor’s voice sounded from not far away.

Feyre felt numb, her face feeling swollen and her body sore as she got off the bed and she silently made her way through the apartment, she hadn’t bothered to take in last night.

She opened the door and found Mor standing there, wearing unusually dark clothing and holding a few bags. "I brought you food. And clothes." She said, trying to smile but not managing it.

Mor’s eyes were bloodshot and the there were bags underneath them, that Feyre had never seen before.

If Mor looked like that, Feyre didn’t want to know how she herself looked like.

She stepped aside to let the blonde inside and shut the door.

"So, um, Cassian said he brought you here and I thought I’d bring you a change of clothes." Mor said as she dropped the bags on the small dining table. She took out paper bag filled with pastries. Not the ones Feyre had been craving all throughout her pregnancy, but still she thought of them and tears began to fill her eyes.

"I’m not hungry." Feyre said, her voice croaky and her throat burning.

Mor looked at her for a long time, before nodding and reaching for the other bag. "But you do need a change of clothes."

Feyre took the offered bag, but made no move to put them on.

Mor rubbed the back of her neck and began again, "Um, if you’re okay with it, Madja wants to take a look at you. Make sure you’re fine."

Feyre didn’t say no, but gritted her teeth at the sound of the healer’s name.

"Another healer. Not her." She said. The old female had been the one who had given her the news in the beginning. After two weeks of enduring an upset stomach, they had called on her and she had been the person to deliver the news that would change their lives forever.

But she had also been the person, who had taken her child from her.

"Alright." Mor nodded quickly. "That’s fine. I’ll let them now."

Feyre didn’t say anything else and went into the bedroom and changed into the new set of clothes. Mor had brought her leggings and a soft cotton blouse that fell down to her thighs. She didn’t look into the mirror as she changed and when she was done, she sat down on the bed and looked down at the floor.

Her tattooed hands were lying limply on her lap and the sight of the mountains and stars on the center of both her palms looked up at her. She remembered one morning only a few weeks ago, when she had been awoken by the feeling of something fluttering in her stomach.

It hadn’t taken her long to realise that it was her baby kicking in her womb and the realisation had made her cry with surprise and happiness. Rhys had been awoken by her laughter mixed with sobs. His sleepy eyes had looked from her face to where her palms were holding the side of her stomach and alighted with joy. She had grabbed his hand, pulled it underneath her own and Rhys had let out a watery laugh of his own, as their child kicked beneath their joined hands.

When he had stopped, Rhys had pulled her hands up to his lips and kissed them gently, reverently. "Thank you." He had whispered, lips kissing around her wrists and up her fingers. "Thank you for this gift, my love." He had traced the lines of her tattoos with his lips until he had pressed soft kisses to the mountain and stars in the center of her palms. "I love you, I love you both so much."

Feyre had just pulled him closer, kissing him even as tears kept slipping from her eyes. "I love you, too." She had whispered onto his lips, letting herself fall back into her pillows and pulling him down with her.

Mor knocking on the door again, made Feyre push that memory away from her mind and look up. She clenched her fingers into a fist, blocking out the view of her tattooed palms and let out a shaky breath.

"The healer is here."

A young female with dark green skin and black eyes stepped up beside Mor and gave Feyre a small smile. "My Lady." She bowed her head.

"Please." Mor said, gesturing forwards and the healer looked up. First at Mor, then at Feyre. She didn’t move until Feyre finally managed a small nod.

The healer hurried forward, sighing a little breath of what might have been relief and Feyre let her lean her back on the bed and lift up her blouse. She closed her eyes, as the healers soft, warm hands gently traced along her abdomen and Feyre had to resist the urge to pull away, to cover up and snarl at the touch.

Through her closed eyes, Feyre saw the flare of golden light, the healers magic. And then the soft touch vanished and her blouse was lowered down and covered her once more.

"You’re in good condition, given the circumstance, my Lady." The healer said, her voice soft and melodical. "Please accept my condolences. May the Mother embrace him with open arms."

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes again. Feyre closed them tightly and turned her head away from the two females standing at her side.

"Everyone in this city mourns the loss of your child. We want you to know that all of our hearts are with you."

She couldn’t. Feyre couldn’t reply. Something burning was burrowing its way up her throat and she wanted to scream at the pressure building inside of her. She wanted to ask if their mourning would bring her child back. Instead, she kept her face turned away, unable the tears from slipping out and bit down hard on her tongue until she could swallow her sobs.

The healer’s steps were almost silent as she left the room and then the apartment. There was a slight shuffling sound and then the mattress dipped and then a warm body was lying behind her, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close.

Feyre wasn’t sure when her composure broke, but as soon as Mor’s warmth settled over her, she was sobbing. Not quietly, but in great, heaving breaths. Like someone had punched her until she could do nothing but gasp. Her knees pulled up to her chest, Feyre screamed as the pain and grief and loss overwhelmed her.

Distantly, she could hear Mor’s own sobs, pressing into her neck and her body shaking alongside hers.


End file.
